


I'll Miss You

by mclavghlin



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5548682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mclavghlin/pseuds/mclavghlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Link starts to feel lonely before departing from Rhett for the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Miss You

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to post this before Christmas, but I didn't finish it until now - it still works as a New Years fic, though!

Since the move to LA, Link always found it difficult to pack up and split apart from Rhett for the holidays. It was usually the last glance he shared with the man after wishing him a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year that emptied the contents of his heart to the floor. The two agreed, though, that it was healthy for their relationship – even if that meant missing one another for the first couple of nights they spent in the company of their families. As much as Link loved his mother, his aunts and uncles, his wife and children… each year there sat in his heart a lingering emptiness that could only be satisfied by the man he admired most. He’d begun to associate the scent of gingerbread and cinnamon to the stark vacancy that weighed him down in Rhett’s absence – and it rung within the back of his mind like a gong. But regardless, he enjoyed the time he spent back home. He’d even begun to notice a recurring longing for North Carolina a week or so after leaving, but the charity he found in his best friend’s smile at their reunion was more than enough to compensate.

As the days inched by, Link grew increasingly restless. The last couple of days at the office would be spent in closure of the year – glass wine bottles and cartons of eggnog were already present in the fridge, awaiting the festivities that would ensue the following Friday. Small trees had littered every corner of the studio since the beginning of December, donned with cinnabar ribbons and strategically placed tinsel that twinkled beneath the glow of carelessly strung Christmas lights. Link shuffled around the kitchen for a final few moments that evening, taking note of the tireless work the crew put into the office’s plethora of decorations. _Thank God for our illustrious team_ , he thought to himself as he ambled to the granite counter on the other side of the room. Placed at the center was a glass bowl filled with various candies prewrapped in thin, shining plastic. Link thrust a hand into the pile and retrieved a miniature candy cane, which he opened with the outwards stab of the wrapper, sticking the end in his mouth. A layer of peppermint coated his tongue.

Link hadn’t seen Rhett – or anyone else, for that matter – in nearly an hour. It was 6 o’clock, after all, so the crew was set free for the evening. Where his best friend had gone, though, was a mystery. A curiosity burned in Link’s stomach, and he expended what was left of his daily energy in search of the other man. For ten minutes, he wandered the studio to no avail, and finally plopped himself onto the loveseat in the back of the GMM set – and just when he thought the loneliness that plagued his heart couldn’t grow any heavier, Link received a text.

_Left with Jessie, last minute Christmas shopping. Catch you later._

Link sighed. It was the Wednesday before the weekend they’d depart for two and a half weeks, and now, Link didn’t even have the chance to banter with Rhett during their short carpool home. The day had been entirely exhausting as it stood, and he’d looked forward to the fifteen or so minutes where he’d drive with Rhett and speak candidly with him about whatever subject came to mind – but as if the universe purposely deemed it just wasn’t Link’s day, the opportunity was stripped from him. He rubbed his temples.

_Ok,_ he texted back, _good night brother._

 

***

 

Link arrived home around 7 o’clock to discover the lights were off, each cranny filled with a gnawing silence. Typically upon entrance, he would hear the bustling of his children in the living room, or the merry laughter of his wife as she entertained them – but that night, the house was devoid of all but himself. Frustrated, he called Christy, who picked up on the second ring.

“Hey babe,” she greeted with charm. In the background was the sound of clashing murmurs that hinted to Link her whereabouts.

“Hey,” he smiled. “Where are you?”

A pause followed Link’s question, but Christy’s response was sweet. “I’ve got the kids, we’re running some errands and whatnot. Shopping, mostly,” her voice grew quiet, almost sorry. “We probably won’t be back for a few hours yet.”

With that, it truly began to occur to Link that the only thing he wanted was company. Disappointed, he exhaled into the speaker. “Oh. Alright, I’ll let you get back to it then. See you tonight,” he said.

Link could hear the affection in her smile as she spoke. “Love you, dear. See you tonight,” she affirmed.

“Love you too.”

Link grimaced as he ended the call. It was always the days he was forced into loneliness that hurt him most. Perhaps, he reasoned, extroversion had just as many pitfalls as introversion – and at that point, he dealt with the dejection the best way he knew how, collapsing all at once onto the living room couch and falling asleep.

 

***

Only a few minutes later, Link awoke to the vibration of his phone against his thigh. The couch’s arm was soft against his cheek, and it stroked the greying stubble of his face like velvet. He groaned and grabbed the device from his pocket with urgency, only to discover it was a call – from Rhett. Link swiped a hand across his forehead and, reluctantly, accepted it.

“Hey,” he croaked.

“Hey buddy, you up to anything?” Rhett’s tone was hopeful.

Link jabbed a finger against his eyelid and pondered. “No…” he trailed off. “Why?”

“Is it okay if I come over?”

_Of course! Absolutely!_ he nearly blurted – but the excitement that tingled in his lips was quickly hushed by the still sinking feeling in his stomach. A thousand other responses flew through his mind, but he ultimately decided on subtly declining Rhett’s request: “I don’t know, man. I’m not all that happy right now.”

A lengthy and perhaps awkward pause rustled from Rhett’s end. “Why’s that? Are you okay?”

“Ahh,” Link dismissively replied. It was on purpose he didn’t further elaborate – he knew it would have been silly to turn down Rhett’s company on the basis of feeling lonely.

“Come on, brother. I’ve hardly spoken to you all day,” the man pleaded. “Plus, I’ve got something up my sleeve. It can be our last hurrah for the year – just the two of us.”

Link couldn’t help but appreciate the unfeigned enthusiasm in his friend’s voice, and his lips curled into a smile. “Alright, fine,” he chuckled. “Only because you love me enough to plan things at my own house without my consent, though.”

Rhett’s eyes seemed to practically roll through the phone. “Whatever. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Okay, man. See you in a few.”

Shortly after hanging up, Link was plagued with hunger and trotted bouncily to the kitchen. He rummaged through the cupboards and found a single box of Apple Jacks along with a few packets of oatmeal. He wasn’t particularly a fan of Apple Jacks – but given his talent for cooking, the cereal would have to do. Besides, any combination of milk and artificially sweetened corn was comforting and familiar in ways he couldn’t quite explain. As Link poured a small portion into a bowl, the scent of stale cinnamon wafted heavily into his nostrils, and he was reminded of home.

 

***

When Rhett came in through the front door, Link sat comfortably on top of the counter, ankles folded underneath his thighs. He scrunched his brow and slung his legs towards the floor. Rhett’s footsteps traveled once to the living room and again to the bathroom – and finally, Link heard him stop in his tracks.

“Link! Where you at?” Rhett called from the hallway.

“In the kitchen.”

The sound of sneakers on carpet neared and transitioned to the clacking of rubber against tile, indicating the blond’s arrival. Link’s eyes traced up his body, a grin stretched across his face. “Hey, man,” he blushed, clearly unable to conceal the joy that flared in his soul.

On the opposite end of the counter, Rhett lifted two plastic bags and dropped them onto the surface. Link felt his gaze contorting into an expression of confusion and judgment, to which the other man responded by portraying a smile of his own.

“Oh, come on now, don’t look at me like that – I told you I had plans!” Rhett defended.

“What _is_ all that?!” the smaller man gestured emphatically to the bags.

When Rhett’s lips disappeared into his beard and the apples of his cheeks rose to his eyes, Link prepared himself for a foolish reply – and that was exactly what was his friend delivered.

“It’s cookie stuff,” Rhett said, his tone meek. “I dunno, I thought it’d be cute to get together with you and make some gingerbread men or something before heading back home. Just to say we did, y’know?”

Indeed, it was a heartwarming thought to know Rhett had purchased all kinds of ‘cookie stuff’ just to share a final memory with Link. Granted, the man had an odd sense of closure – but truthfully, Link found it endearing. He proceeded to hop down to the floor, his bare feet smacking against the cold tile, and carry himself over to his friend’s side. “I think it’s a great idea, Rhett,” he authentically declared.

With a hearty laugh, the larger man reached into the bags and retrieved their contents. First, of course, was a set of gingerbread man cookie cutters. Next was a box of butter, followed by brown sugar, flour, cinnamon, ginger, allspice, pepper – pepper? –, icing, and molasses. Finally, Rhett stuck a couple fingers into his pocket and pulled out a tattered paper which he unfolded and analyzed between glances at the ingredients. Biting his tongue, he kept his eyes fixed on the recipe. “Do you have a couple eggs?” he asked.

“Should have, yeah…” Link assumed. Brow furrowed, he found himself with his body pressed against Rhett’s side, peering at the text on the paper.

Rhett blew a huff of laughter past his lips and crouched ever so slightly to the other man’s level. He refolded the paper into eighths and slid it just beneath the toaster that sat in front of him. Suddenly, his posture straightened – “I almost forgot,” he said with excitement, once more tossing a hand into one of the bags. From it, he pulled out a couple of folded, cloth items the color of eggshell. He took one and held it by the top, where it unfurled towards the floor and opened into an apron. With a grin splayed across his face, Rhett tossed it over the brunet’s head and draped it so it hung from his neck.

Link’s reproachful eyes darted up from behind his glasses. _Rhett, this is silly,_ he nearly insisted – but before he could merely process the thought, the blond had migrated behind him to tie the apron fittingly around his waist. The smaller man crossed his arms as he watched Rhett walk hurriedly back to the counter and do the same to himself.

“ _I_ see that look in your eyes. Just roll with it.” Rhett’s eyebrows arched in admonition – but it was short lived, and he quickly turned his gaze to the cabinet above him. He opened it and retrieved a large bowl, which he then placed on the counter. “Alright,” he looked to Link, “you find a mixer and a rolling pin and I’ll start measuring things out.”

Rolling his eyes, Link acquiesced. He found the mixer first and handed it to Rhett, who proceeded to cream the sugar and butter together. By the time Link found the rolling pin – which had been wedged in the back of the first drawer he checked in – Rhett was finished, and had begun throwing other items into the mix. He cracked an egg onehandedly on the counter and allowed its viscous innards drop all at once into the bowl. _Showoff_ , Link mused, a hint of endearment in his observation.

“Where’d you learn that?” he asked, rising up from a squat and placing the rolling pin against the wall.

Rhett looked up from the mixture that had so captivated him. “What, this?” he half-smiled, acquiring another egg from the carton and repeating the process – once again, no shell.

“Yeah, that, Mr. Jack-of-all-trades,” Link replied, mocking his friend’s arrogance.

“I took a class,” he quipped.

“Is that right…” Link inattentively snickered.

Rhett hummed in transition. “Anyhow,” he twirled on his heel, “if you don’t care, can you get another bowl and put the flour in it?”

Already, Link rose to his tiptoes so he could see inside the cabinet. “Yeah, how much?” he asked.

Rhett paused for a moment in thought. “Four and a half cups,” he finally said – and Link hastily complied, thrusting a finger to break the top of the flour bag and scooping even measurements into the acquired bowl. When he finished, Rhett added teaspoon amounts of each spice and whisked it together until it retained a hue of light tan. Rhett sat the bowl down. “ _Cosmic latte,_ ” he sputtered.

Link lifted a brow. “Cosmic latte?” he shortly repeated, mimicking the taller man’s pose – they’d both observantly bent over the dry ingredients, inhaling the faint aroma of allspice.

“Yeah!” Rhett’s expression lit up. “That’s what scientists call the average color of the universe. It’s about like that,” he gestured to the flour mixture.

“That’s so light though – and space is so dark!” Link contended. “That can’t be right.”

“Of course it can.”

“How?!”

Rhett smiled. “I think it solely depends on how you define the universe. Technically, it’s just the color of _things_. Stars, namely. Space is a vacuum, so its color isn’t accounted for, because it’s nothing.”

Link folded his arms and cocked his head to the side. “But the nothingness has a _color_ –”

“But it’s _nothing_! It’s the absence of color.” Rhett broke in. “Here’s a scenario – you and I, Link, are we able to see one another?”

Hesitation. “Of course…” he said slowly.

“Exactly. Visually, there’s nothing in between us – but physically, there are trillions of air molecules flying around, bouncing off one another. But you wouldn’t say the average color of your kitchen is transparent just because the air’s clear, would you?” Out of his love of spreading knowledge, Rhett laughed. “But see, I can still tell that on the other side of this wall of air is my best friend in the world. And he’s wearing an ugly sweater under that apron, too,” he joked, poking a forefinger into his friend’s stomach.

Link smirked and swatted him away. “It’s supposed to be ugly!” he defended. “Now hurry up and let’s get all this mixed together before you get off on some existential tangent.”

“Pfft,” Rhett breathed as he gripped the mixer loosely in his hand. “Alright, spoon in small amounts of flour at a time, and slowly, now –”

“Rhett, that bowl’s not big enough!” Link remarked. It was true – there was no chance even _half_ of the flour could make it in, let alone the full four and a half cups. “Just pour yours into this.”

Incredulous, Rhett turned his eyes upon Link. “You can’t put wet into dry – it won’t mix that way!” he yelled.

Link threw his hands defensively into the air – but thereafter pinched the bridge of his nose with a premonition of catastrophe. “Okay, Rhett, have it your way,” he exhaled, his tone vindictive. If there was one thing he hated about Rhett’s personality, it was the degree of self-assurance that stood in every facet of his being… yet at the same time, his logic almost always proved sound.

Precision dominated Rhett’s fingers as he spooned heaps of flour into the bowl and began mixing. Soon, Link assumed the former job and silently peppered the dry ingredients into Rhett’s. The process kept Link on edge – at first, it was mundane and went relatively swell, but each spoonful forced the dough closer to the bowl’s rim. Before much longer, the partially solidified mixture reached the top. Link looked into his own bowl to discover just half of it had been used. To his dismay, Rhett’s expectant gaze fell into his own. “Well?” the man pressed.

“I’m telling you, it won’t fit!” Link grinned. “Rhett, just listen to me for once. If I pour all mine in that,” he pointed, “it’s gonna overflow. There’s gonna be flour everywhere!”

Rhett glared playfully at him. “Oh, come on – let’s just try it,” he insisted, softly backhanding Link in the chest. “What’s it gonna hurt? We’ve got a mess to clean up anyway, so it’s not like we’ve got anything to lose.”

Again, Rhett was right – and besides, Link wasn’t averse to cleaning anyway. In fact, he enjoyed it. For a moment he pondered, his once incorrigible decision crumbling to the floor… before a striking realization dawned upon him.

He’d been so preoccupied by Rhett’s company paired with the task at hand that he’d entirely forgotten the feeling of emptiness. He’d gone nearly the entire day having not seen the man he labeled his security blanket, which was rare in and of itself – and in addition, the two upcoming weeks would be spent entirely without him. The simple gesture of Rhett gracing him with his presence was more than enough to fuel Link’s need, and the fact that he seemingly had the whole night planned out as though it were a surprise party aided his anxieties regarding whether or not Rhett truly cared for him. Although Link’s starvation of human contact had been satisfied, it was likely Rhett didn’t know just how much his company meant…

…did he?

“Link?”

At the sound of his name, the brunet looked up to see his friend’s hand dangling in front of his face. Despite the multitude of thoughts running through his head, Link couldn’t unearth a single word. Instead, his lips parted into an ‘o’ shape, and he was left speechless at Rhett’s hands.

By that point, all of Rhett’s attention pivoted on Link. He brushed a hand atop the other man’s shoulder and solemnly made eye contact. “You alright?” he asked with utmost sincerity.

Link inhaled a short but sharp gasp – and suddenly Rhett lunged closer, now obviously seven inches above him. Link smelled his deep, ocean-like scent, and he felt the warmth radiating from his body. It was there a stoic tear dropped from his eye to his cheek, and he was pulled all at once into Rhett’s chest. Link draped his arms loosely around the man’s waist, and neither spoke for several seconds.

Finally, Link lifted his eyes. He hadn’t cried, really, only reminisced – his love for Rhett was evergreen, yet he feared their separation would only distance their bond. Rhett’s eyes flicked around the room, but ultimately ended up fixed on the man who’d pressed himself into his torso. “Link,” his calm voice spoke, “what’s the matter?”

A dreaded question. Not because Link resented the idea of divulging to Rhett his feelings – no, that awkwardness ended long ago. Instead, he furrowed his brow in contemplation; _What **is** the matter? _Before he could answer, Link buried his head into Rhett’s collarbone and sighed – but finally, he arose, though not without gravity in his stare.

“Rhett,” he spoke. A concerned glint shone in his friend’s eye.

Link felt his waterline overflow into his lashes – but despite this, he continued. “Rhett, have you ever missed someone so much, even though they’re right in front of you?”

As if his life depended on it, Rhett pushed Link away by the shoulders and crouched to his level with the same, cautious expression. “Only every single day,” he whispered – and Link knew.

There was a lingering moment of silence where thousands of words yo-yoed within the containment of Link’s mind, though they never came close to escaping his lips. _I just don’t think you know,_ he thought.

_I just don’t think you know you’re my entire world._

_And I’d be endlessly shattered without you._

_And even though I’ve said a million times we need our time apart…_

_…for our relationship…_

_…I always hate that last goodbye._

_It hurts when you give me that “Merry Christmas” hug._

_But the sweetness with which your arms wrap around me and won’t let me go gets me every single time._

_It’s not that I have a bad time when you’re not around_.

_Something’s just missing._

_And as long as I go back to Buies Creek for the holidays…_

_As long as I set foot in my mother’s house on the first day of winter…_

_As long as I tread the riverbanks of Cape Fear with my children…_

_…and not once do I see your face…_

_…I’m afraid it always will be._

Link managed to mask a final couple of tears as they sank into the fabric of Rhett’s apron. With a feigned smile, he slid his hands down Rhett’s hips and coaxed him backwards. Once they made eye contact, Link bared his teeth and expelled a dismal laugh.

Rhett mimicked him with kind intent. He rested a palm against the counter, bearing a faint expression of finality. “You’re okay, Link. I know it.”

The words were reassuring, especially coming from Rhett – yet, Link questioned their authenticity. A lump formed in his throat, but he swallowed it down with a single maneuver and a hasty subject change. “I think we need another bowl,” he suggested, a huskiness to his voice.

“Yeah,” Rhett sighed in agreement.

“And after that we’ll roll out the dough?”

“Yep.”

From Rhett’s evident disquietude, Link presumed the remainder of the night would possess an air of awkwardness – but fortunately his judgments were disproven when, as he lifted his hands to the cabinet above him, a pair of sturdy arms embraced his chest. When he laughed, they only squeezed him tighter, and so he sank breathlessly into Rhett’s torso.

“You smell that, Link? Cinnamon,” he said with warmth. “Maybe now it can remind you of good times.”

Although Rhett couldn’t see him, Link’s face lit up in a flash – did Rhett know how cinnamon usually affected his mood? That every memory he associated with it caught his loneliness aflame? That each Christmas the spice flooded his mother’s home and made him, for whatever reason, wish for Rhett’s company?

…Of course he did. It was Rhett. The most intelligent and observant man Link had ever known – and evidently the most kind, too. He’d expended so many efforts just for the happiness of his best friend.

And Link wore the _best friend_ title with honor. He was a lucky man indeed.

But it was days like this when it just felt like more.


End file.
